


a breath of agartha

by nahofficial



Series: ephraim and myrrh semi-modern au [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Modern AU, Philosophy, and there was a fair amt on my mind that i used ephraim to communicate, i have to prove to myself that i can write competently sometimes, so if ephraim feels out of character that is why, sorry if yall were lookin forward to another shitfic, this is a serious piece
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 12:56:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14402586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nahofficial/pseuds/nahofficial
Summary: myrrh is struggling with moving on from her father's death. ephraim helps her to carry on.





	a breath of agartha

**Author's Note:**

> apologies in advance for leaving it all in lowercase. i hope you may find it in your hearts to one day forgive me for this atrocity against proper writing form.

the world was dark outside the small house in the countryside. the skein of the universe shimmered overhead and the nearest city was miles upon miles away, merely a suggestion that only made itself known at night by a sliver of light pollution in the distant west. outside, ephraim chopped firewood for the night's fire. the brisk winter air kissed and nipped at his nose, hinting at the potential for the season's first snowfall. before she went to take her shower, myrrh had poked fun at him for not chopping the wood during the day, but ephraim preferred to do work like this under the stars. after stacking up the excess wood against the house, he gathered the remaining logs in his arms and headed inside, making sure to stop on the small porch and take one final, long look at the shimmering galaxy overhead. the infinite sparkling stars glimmered like specular hematite. as above, so below. he let out a long exhale and watched as his breath danced away into the night, then turned and opened the front door.

inside, myrrh let out a long sigh as the warm water fell from the showerhead upon her head and ran down her body, enveloping her like a blanket. she ran her fingers through her hair, getting out any remaining tangles and knots. she watched as the water danced down her body, creating rivers and their tributaries upon her dark skin. she imagined upon herself a grand nation being born; nomadic tribes sprouting tents alongside a smaller stream, herds of buffalo moving lethargically, the cry of ospreys in the trees during the day and the sounds of drums and crackling fire during the night. the sound of the water flowing from the showerhead brought her back into focus. she ran her hands down her body, down her legs, erasing the formed passageways of water, erasing the civilization from her mind just as easily as she created it. she knew she should get out of the shower, but the warmth and comfort of the water beckoned for her to stay. her eyes affixed to the diamond tile pattern on the walls, she drew shapes in her mind— triangular stars, innumerable -hedrons. once again catching herself drifting off, she forced herself to turn off the shower, and hopped out onto the bath mat so that she wouldn't just turn it back on once more.

ephraim set the firewood down by the hearth and knelt before the fireplace. he placed some kindling down—an arrangement of palo santo wood, sage and frankincense that he perfected over the years—and set the firewood atop it. the fire from his lighter whispered against the tinder until the tinder too began to act. the whispers turned to murmurs as the kindling lit ablaze, and the murmurs turned to chatter as the wood followed suit. ephraim smiled and sat back, keeping an eye on the dancing, chattering flames to make sure all carried on well. the aromatics flowed through the room before the heat, and ephraim let out a sigh of comfort. every evil that was holed up within him was being expunged, all negativity purged. satisfied that the fire was growing correctly, he made his way to the couch and settled down.

the fire was going strong and ephraim was gazing into it when myrrh came out from the bathroom, dressed in her pajamas and smelling of petrichor. she planted herself next to ephraim on the couch and rested her head on his arm. ephraim felt his flannel getting wet—her hair was still far from dried—but he didn't mind. he felt her settle, making small movements like a cat kneading out its spot to fall asleep, and he adjusted himself as he saw fit to bring her greater comfort. despite the fact that no words were shared between the two of them, they knew exactly each others intent. it was a dance routine routinely rehearsed on winter nights between them; things like these come with familiarity. the crackle of the fire comforted myrrh like a mother's lullaby. ephraim's eyes remained transfixed on the flames.

the house softly settled beneath them as they sat. myrrh watched ephraim as he gazed at the lit fireplace, then looked about the room. she observed how the glow of the flame lit up the surroundings. the orange light curled about the pictures hung on the walls. it made the low table between the fireplace and the couch grow a long shadow that danced on the hand-woven rug below it. she looked over the arm of the couch at their bookshelf. the spines of the books all had more orangey hues to them. the intricately carved wooden figures on the top shelf appeared to be alive. the figures that she carved.

she squinted as she focused on the one of ephraim, noting how the fire's light accented the features on the effigy the same way that it did the ephraim she was leaning against, sharpening them, defining them. she remembered carving it with her father and ephraim one spring morning a couple years before her father passed away. they were sitting side by side on a log, myrrh in the middle. the sun had just began peeking over the trees on the other side of the lake, and the sky was filled with creamy oranges and reds. she remembered listening to them talk to each other about the beauty of the drum. her father was saying something about how the beat of the drum and the beat of the heart were one and the same when a dragonfly landed to rest upon myrrh's knee. she remembered how the air felt, dewy and comforting. the three of them were breathing in unison.

a creaking of the house brought her from the memory. she blinked a couple times, then turned her head to gaze at the fireplace with ephraim. she watched it dance and flicker.

"i was thinking about my father earlier today," said myrrh after a couple minutes had passed.

"morva was a good man," ephraim responded. 

"i miss him," myrrh said in return, a half-response.

"it wasn't his time."

"is it ever anyone's?"  the air was solemn yet calming. the fire's murmurs seemed to encourage myrrh to speak, willing her to join their gentle chatter. ephraim sat silently in repose, bringing a hand to the top of myrrh's head. after a couple moments, myrrh spoke again. "may i tell you what's on my mind, ephraim?"

"of course, myrrh." ephraim's eyes moved from the fire and onto her.

"my father told me once why my parents named me what they did. we were sitting by the fire one summer night. there were crickets singing to us. we sat side by side. the stars smiled to us overhead. 

"he said to me that my parents hoped that i would bring a feeling of peace to the world. he told me how myrrh is used—the herb, of course. he told me that it's used to heal many types of wounds and how it was burned in the temples of western religions. it allowed the worshippers to reach a proper form of meditation, and it guarded them against their personal sorrows. he told me that when one lost someone dear to them, they were gifted with myrrh. they would burn it, and the myrrh would comfort them, would ease their grieving soul. he said that my parents knew they weren't long for the world. he recounted how they had told my father that they wanted him to take me in after they passed on. he said that i was their last gift to him, and he said that it was true; like the herb, i eased his mourning heart."

myrrh stopped to collect herself. ephraim began to rub her back silently, knowing that she wasn't yet finished. after a couple deep breaths, she continued. "then i remembered when i met you. the loss of your father was still a fresh wound on your mind. remember those many, many nights we spent talking in the starlight? remember when we found the place where our home now stands? my parents had an intention for me, and my father raised me to become who i am now, as yours did with you.

"i really miss my father. it's been a year since he passed on, but my heart still hurts. will… will it ever be over, ephraim?" she looked up at ephraim, eyes growing teary. ephraim pulled her into a hug.

"oh myrrh… everything…" he paused, collecting his thoughts. he was speaking onto the top of her head. "everything has its purpose. everything, no matter how grand its size, will one day fall back down. even the most beautiful sculptures will one day erode.

"you helped me through my mourning process, i hope i am helping you through yours."

"you are," myrrh interrupted.

"that's good. you are my myrrh, i'm happy i can be yours," ephraim smiled. "back to what i was saying. we have similar experiences, after all, and morva became a father to me as well, though in a lesser way. you know, everything dies eventually, but i don't think everything dies the same way. some stars will just fizzle out into nothingness, but others will explode into galaxies. they will fill our sky with lights innumerable by sacrificing themselves. morva, i believe, was the latter. my father was as well, but that is beside the point.

"morva was filled with life and energy until his very last breath. he spoke of the earth and all her components, and he gave me an appreciation for the beauty of the natural world that i had not had before. he treated everyone as a masterpiece; as intricate beings of flesh and spirit. he taught me a new way to look at fields of flowers and rainy days. his death was the creation of a new galaxy, so to speak, for now that he is gone we must carry his legacy—his teachings and beliefs—with us, and help others as we help one another. even though we are merely ants upon a marble in the corner of the universe, we can still make each other happy, and that brings purpose to life.

"so will you ever stop mourning? no. but you will find that your mourning can be repurposed. one day your heart will hurt less, but that will not mean you won't miss him any longer. the best thing we can do now is appreciate the beauty of the world as he once did, and ensure that he will never be forgotten in spirit."

"do you think i'll ever see him again, ephraim?" myrrh was crying, but the tears were purifying. she felt heavy and light at the same time.

"my friend lyon told me that nothing is ever created or destroyed, only repurposed. there is no true way to destroy anything entirely. i think you'll be with him once more, or maybe he is with us right now. perhaps we have some of his soul within us. i can't say i know what happens after we die because, well, i haven't died yet," ephraim chuckled, then continued. "here's what i believe. i think that he reached a unity with whatever powers be. whatever creator manufactured his soul is treating it with the utmost respect. in a sense, i think he has become immortal.

"during my studies with my sister and lyon, we read a drama that was about Adam trying to enter the inner sanctum of the garden. in it, he spoke a line that has always resonated with me. to quote and paraphrase, he said 'while my maker could not give me immortality, immortality was inherent in the very dust of which i was composed.'

"i've always felt that it meant that those who are in tune with their 'dust,' so to speak, are unafraid of death, and i think that morva was intimately familiar with the beauty of the universe. once we die, everything will be repurposed, not destroyed. so where, then, does our consciousness go?

"i think that the way that constellations were created by man have something to do with it. not so much the concept of humans being placed in the stars, but the mythos behind them. those humans that were honored by Gods so that they could live in the sky for the rest of existence also live on earth by means of their legends and influence. our human experience is to learn from one another. that is the way that our spirits live on. in this sense, morva is still very alive and well in this room.

"but he will still be alive even after we are gone, for we will treat others how we believe they should be treated, and we have learned how to treat others from morva. those other people, if they choose to act as we do, will be carrying on his consciousness whether or not they are aware of it, much in the same way that we may be carrying the consciousnesses of the people who influenced and taught morva, and those before them, and so on, and so on..."

silence settled upon the room as ephraim trailed off. he cleared his throat. "i think i rambled a bit, sorry."

"no, it's exactly what i needed to hear and think about. thank you, ephraim," myrrh said, and reached for his hand. "i didn't know that my father had such an effect on you as well."

"of course he did, myrrh," ephraim responded, and took her hand in his. "he was a kind, intelligent man. i took his words to heart."

"i'm glad." myrrh smiled and settled back down, placing her head onto ephraim's lap. she yawned, her eyes growing heavier. the stars outside danced like the fire in their fireplace, and as myrrh drifted to sleep the universe felt simultaneously larger yet more like home than it ever had before. though she felt small, she felt safe, and when she fell asleep she dreamt lucidly of the civilization on the riverside, with the calls of ospreys in the daytime and the beating of drums in the nighttime. this time, she wondered if she hadn't made it up, but instead was visiting a memory that she carried on from her ancestors.


End file.
